


You Can Make a Popsicle Melt (and other schmoopy things Mike says when no one’s around)

by anyothergirl415



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s kind of how this crazy love thing works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Make a Popsicle Melt (and other schmoopy things Mike says when no one’s around)

“You were expecting something epically more awesome than a cheeseburger weren’t you?” Mike offered him the burger, reaching back in the bag with his free hand to grab a pinch of fries between his fingers and pop them up into his mouth.

“I’ve learned expectations are wasted on you,” Misha mumbled and pulled at the wrapper, frowning down at the grease soaked, ketchup overloaded bun. “This is not the type of meat I like having in my mouth however.”

Coughing around salty starch, Mike’s eyebrows curved up as he eyed the back of his boyfriend’s head. “Trying to work me up Collins?”

Misha huffed, shifting on his stomach as his eyes rolled in a slow circle up than settled back on the TV screen. “Don’t call me that, it’s so… Neanderthal of you. I consider my standards more elitist.”

Snorting a laugh Mike settled back against the headboard, unfolding the wrapper from around his burger. Something loud crashed on the screen and Mike glanced up, “whatcha watching honey bear?” He grinned when Misha shot him a look over his shoulder, Mike’s teeth clamping around bread, meat and grease.

“[How to be a Serial Killer](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1038971/),” the dark haired man lifted his shoulders in a shrug, as if there was nothing odd about that. Mike had learned in the past few months that there really wasn’t. “Honey bear?”

“Sweetie pie?” Mike’s lips curved up into a grin, wrapper folding over the burger and squeezing until food squished under his grasp.

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

“My popsicle stick of _love_?” Rolling on the mattress, Mike pressed into Misha’s side, hand slapping down on the curve of ass covered by denim.

“Your... popsicle stick…” Misha repeated the words slowly, lip slowly tilting up in a smirk.

“You can make my popsicle stick melt,” Mike murmured, pushing up along the bottom of Misha’s shirt and running along the skin.

“Is that a euphemism for your cock?” Misha murmured and shifted up into the touch, rolling to his side to trail Mike’s fingers along his abs.

“Like the meat you’d rather have in your mouth,” Mike agreed and pushed the button of Misha’s jeans free from its fasten.

Moaning softly Misha finished his roll, spreading out on his back. “And if I said I wanted you to make my popsicle stick melt?”

Smirking, Mike dragged the zipper down, curling his fingers into the denim and pulling down. “I’d say it’s more… sausage. Thick and long.”

“How about…” Misha’s hips lifted as Mike tugged along the elastic of his boxers. “We stop using food products in reference to our cocks?”

“So no, your hot dog in my bun jokes?” Mike murmured, lips descending to graze along flesh slowly.

Making a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, Misha pushed up into the touch, wanting _more_. “Definitely no… especially not that…” he shook his head slowly from side to side. Flaring heat wrapped around his cock in one quick motion, effectively ceasing all thought process in his mind.

Mike was all tongue and lips, fingers digging into his thighs, spreading wide and holding him close. Misha’s fingers wrapped and curled into short blond locks, tugged and pulled, heels digging down into the mattress to find enough leverage to thrust his body up into incomparable warmth. “Jesus… _Michael_ …” he murmured the name, a term of endearment only used in the most private of moments.

They’re perfect like this, in every way, a constant steady thrum of all the things that could make a person whole. Sometimes Misha was as much Ying as Mike was Yang and other times they switched because it was just the way this crazy sort of love thing worked out.

When Misha came it was long and hard, body rolling up into smooth lips, encouraged by the moans vibrating along his skin. He melted back into the mattress and let his fingers slowly fall through curls to the mattress.

“Kinda love it when you call me that,” Mike pointed out, crawling up to brush their lips together.

“Yeah, I know,” Misha smirked, fingers tracing between shoulder blades.

They kissed for long moments, familiar tongues and comforting heat, passing and sliding constantly. Eventually Misha’s lips dropped, tracing out the curve of jaw, tongue flicking along a fleshy earlobe. “Misha…” Mike breathed in a moan.

Resuming his previous smirk, Misha murmured softly, “let me guess, you want me to make your popsicle melt?”

“Or whatever…” Mike nodded in agreement, pulling back so their lips could collide once more.  



End file.
